


Pigskin

by Silencing



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:37:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silencing/pseuds/Silencing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing's ever simple for Jason Todd - not even a simple pick-up game of football.  If only Dick Grayson wasn't so gosh-darned charming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pigskin

Rain came down in heavy sheets, obscuring everything standing more than a few feet from them. Even so, Jason was painfully aware of the water beading on Dick’s broad shoulders, the way his soaked jersey clung to his chest and stomach closer than any bodysuit. Lucky for him the rain hid his distraction, and Dick didn’t notice the sudden turn his gaze had taken.

“You going to run back or just stand there?” he asked, tossing a muddied pigskin back and forth. “This is football, not foursquare.”

Jason laughed it off and pelted down the field, running away from Dick’s sparkling grin more than anything. What was it Babs kept calling him? Man-wonder? She wasn’t wrong. The thought sent a dark flush creeping across the bridge of his nose. Way to go, Jay, blushing like a naïve schoolboy. He had to get out of the manor and get laid, fast. 

By a chick. Definitely by a chick. It had to have been too long since the last time he’d gotten his d— his cock sucked. No way was he turning gay for some kiss-up boyscout. 

He didn’t have long to dwell before the football came spiraling out of the gloom, straight into his hands. How had Dick known where to throw the damn thing? No matter – the instant he had the ball tucked up under his arm, Jason’s whole world narrowed to the task of sprinting past his waiting opponent. Dick was fast, but Jason was faster, and he swung wide to use the rain for cover, sure that he could skate right past him and bring the score up 4-0. Dick hadn’t tagged him once yet, a fact Jason wasn’t going to let him forget anytime soon.

He hadn’t quite figured on the mud, though. The rain had been coming down steadily harder, and their feet had churned the well-manicured lawn into a swamp. His smooth tennis shoes caught a slick patch of grass and he stumbled, giving Dick the fraction of a second he needed. The bigger man came at him like a puma, springing for him on those damn circus legs of his, and Jason hardly had time to square himself for the tackle.

Pigskin forgotten, Jason wrestled against Dick’s (barely) superior weight, but he knew already that his balance was too shitty to keep it up for long. Instead he took a fall – the way Dick had taught him to – intending to roll out from under the man as he fell forward. Instead, Dick predicted his play and came down right with him, grabbing his wrists tight along the way. Hold and subdue, right? Just like he was still some street punk with a jacked wallet.

Jason fought like a badger, bucking up against Dick to toss him off, twisting his wrists to yank them free. He’d been pinned down like this plenty of times in his life, but never by someone who’d made a living nailing toughs like he was bagging rats. They rolled over in the mud, Dick on top, now Jason, now Dick again, but Jason was well and truly caught – he’d been distracted, taken off guard. It was as much as he deserved. Embarrassment twisted into anger in his gut and he bared his teeth in anger. 

“Come on, say uncle,” Dick grinned, straddling his chest and holding his wrists up over his head. Rain-blind, he saw white teeth and assumed an expression to match his own. “So much for your winning streak.”

Jason quit his squirming abruptly, laying still in the mud and trying not to contemplate the position he was in. Even through the rain his nose was full of the smell of the other man, his sweat and boyscout-issue soap, a heady mix of masculinity and squeaky-clean that practically defined Dick Grayson. The idiot probably didn’t even see what was going on – Jason stretched out under him, panting, flushed, soaking wet.

He had to get out of here, and fast.

“Uncle,” he growled, and the second Dick relaxed his grip Jason was on his feet, and socked him in the jaw for good measure.

Dick sat back on the grass, laughing and rubbing his face. Jason felt a curl of disgust for him, leaving his guard wide open like this. His fingers dug hard into his palms and he shook with the effort of not punching him again, straight in his smiling face. 

“Hey, cool your jets, little wing,” Dick said, hopping to his feet again. “You still kicked my ass. Want to go another round?”

“Nah, you’re too easy,” Jason shot back, swiping soaked hair out of his face. The anger was still there, burning hot under his ribs, but he had to control it. Every time he blew up and lost it, he proved to them that he was still just some jacked-up punk. 

So – he’d spit the anger out with words. Wit was valuable currency around here, and they’d never know how bad he still hurt inside when he was smirking on the outside.

“Besides, Alfie’s gonna have a heart attack. ‘Oh, Masters Richard and Jason, I do say, you will catch a most dreadful case of pneumonia.”

Dick laughed at that, clapping Jason on the back. “I think he might be more concerned about us tracking all this on his clean floor.”

Jason punched Dick’s shoulder, full of cocky nonchalance again. “Great. You first, then. You’re such a bad influence on me.”


End file.
